To Mark's Children,
I am so saddened to learn of your father's passing and extend my sympathies to you all. I am a former staff worker at Laurel House in Stamford and met Mark when he served on the Board of Directors ( I remember meeting some of you too when you were just little kids - remember the Move Alongs at Cove Beach?). I was a young social worker at the time and Mark took an interest in my professional development. I learned a lot from him. But beyond Mark's generosity to me, I was most struck by his dedication to our members and how he interacted with them with such gentleness and kindness. I will never forget his deep barrel belly laugh. When Mark moved to MA and left the Board of Laurel House, it did not surprise me that he continued his service to the larger Clubhouse Community. His contribution to Clubhouse will be missed by all who were fortunate to know him. 
I will keep your family in my prayers as you grieve the passing of your father. May these tributes bring a smile to your faces.
Sincerely,
Christine (Chris) Limone
Milford, CT

I miss the big bear very much, but had the good fortune to see him three times last year; once in Berkeley, a stay of several days in Brookline, and once when we had a lovely autumn walk when he came to Oxford. Two stories.
The first story of how Mark was mistaken for the janitor when the freshmen arrived at Williams College is well-known: this was due to his appearance wearing all khakis and his much-older-than-others appearance. What’s perhaps lost in this story is that, though Mark could look like an ancient sage, even as a freshman, as many of the photos on this site attest, it is also the case that Mark’s devious and infectious smile (is ‘impish grin’ better here?) could also make him look childlike, from the time I knew him as a freshman into old age. And that range of ages in appearance applies, of course, to his spirit as well.
A second is a Mark and Ralph story: it’s a beautiful summer day at Williams, so Mark and Ralph decide to go swimming in a small lake up on Northwest Hill Road. But a storm, with lots of lightning, appears quickly as they are splashing in the middle of the lake. Luckily, a metal rowboat is anchored there, so Mark and Ralph swim towards it, turn it over, and take shelter underneath its upturned hull. More lightning, then one of us asks the other: doesn’t metal conduct lightning? Duh! Mark and Ralph quickly escape from under the hull and swim very quickly to the shore in the midst of the storm!!!
Keep on roaming those summer fields!

Our deepest condolences to Cole, Henry, Lily, & Sam. It’s sad that we missed our chance to meet Mark. When our families are together on the Cape this June, we’d love to get to know him through hearing some of your stories about this man who was such an important part of your life.

Dear Henry, Cole, Lilly, Sam and Mark's entire Family:
I am so deeply sorry. I just read all of the stories and tributes on this page and laughed and cried as I had the chance to learn more about Mark...and also to see so many lives were enriched by Mark's love, his sense of humor, his tremendous appetite for great conversation and good, and so much more. I had the pleasure to get to meet Mark nearly 20 years ago through mutual Williams friends. About once a year even since then I had occasion to see Mark, break bread with him and share in conversation. Like so many others I will always hear the sound of Mark's great laugh. And I will think often and fondly of wide-ranging conversations from poetry to volunteerism; from bonding as fellow parents of twins, to tasting the delightful and obscure treats Mark brought with him. In ways I hope to tell you about in person some day, Mark was a true friend to me and many others. Please accept my sympathies and love. -Morgan

Amen

He was my dear friend.
We met on the squash court freshman year. I could never beat him, those long, heron-like arms forcing me into the corner as he hit a drop shot. Over the years, we continued to do battle. For two years, he was no. 4, and I was no. 5. He was like running into a wall.
We read poetry on our way to fish. We shared poems, books, songs, children, grief and a tiny amount of politics. There were other, better things, to talk about than politics (but he worried greatly about the state of the country, and the man who occupies the presidency).
We shared stories of our fathers. At Williams, I told him once that my father was my best friend and he was amazed, shocked actually, to hear such a thing. He said his father was a hard man to know.
We fished and rowed rafts. We camped and ate bouillabaisse with mountain goats. We read out loud with flash lights. He stared at the mountain lakes for a long time. I taught him to fish.
He (eventually) shared his haiku with me, a great honor.
He taught me suiseki, and I cursed him for it, cursed him for ruining my favorite pastime, fly fishing, because now I spent all my fishing time looking in the rocks for mini mountains and figures of animals. I found a rock with a silverback gorilla relief and gave it to him. He said was one of the greatest gifts of his life. Haha, such hyperbole, but I loved the compliment. He told me on the way back to Boston from his trip, that an infant on the plane, maybe two years old, was crying inconsolably and her mother was at her wit’s end. He reached into his pocket (a book could be written about Mark’s pockets), pulled out the rock, leaned down, and asked the girl, “have you ever seen a gorilla inside a rock?” He said that stopped her from crying.
We spoke of his depression, how he did not want to take medication (“I’m talking too much medication already, I don’t want to medicate my brain.”). I could not convince him otherwise, and, in a way, I respected his decision, but it lead to this outcome, I believe.
I could go on. I have never had a friend like Mark, a brilliant old soul inside a child’s body (even though he looked like my father…hmm). I love the stories you all have shared about his laugh. There was absolutely nothing like it. It hugged you, wrapped itself around you. He loved his friends, family and most especially his children. He loved them with a power and depth I can only envy. To leave them behind is a testament to his suffering.
The world is a smaller place for me now, and I suspect, given the outpouring in these testaments, a smaller place for all of you. But I count myself lucky for having known him, for being his friend. For Mark, as you all know, friendship went both ways. Never a taker, always generous, sharing, courteous, always the gentleman in the truest sense.
Rest well, my friend. We will remember you well.

I have had the privilege and the honor of collaborating with Mark for many years in my role as CFO of Fountain House and also serving on the Clubhouse International Clubhouse Advisory Council and the Faculty for Clubhouse Development. He had an incredible passion for the work of Clubhouses and for helping to better the lives of people living with mental illness. He was a forward thinker who championed new ideas while remaining true to deep convictions. His exuberance was inspirational. I enjoyed the time we had working together and sharing stories over meals. I will greatly miss him as I know countless others will too. My deepest condolences to Mark’s family and loved ones.

I worked closely with Mark for many years on TES and his commitment and knowledge will be very missed.

My deepest condolences <3
He was a great guy with a big heart and he will be missed.

I am so sorry for your loss. I have been lucky to know & admire Mark throughout college, and then reconnect 25 years after graduation when he moved to Boston and Lilly and my daughter Lydia became soccer teammates and friends.

Even in college, Mark’s most wonderful signature belly laugh — offered freely & without reservation — was frequently the highlight of a whole day for me & for others around him. It was particularly appreciated when Mark & I would too often be the last two people leaving Sawyer Libray when it closed at 1am, headed back to our rooms to finish our latest papers for class. We’d chat, he’d belly laugh, I’d feel better about pushing through exhaustion to finish my schoolwork.

I always admired how Mark opened himself up to new friends and new intellectual inquiry, and his ability during conversation to really focus the person in front of him.  One spring junior or senior year he was taking a mind-blowing course cross-offered in Physics & Philosophy called “Time”. I passed Mark while he was sitting outside Greylock Dining Hall on a bench, staring into space. I said “Hi Mark, what’s up?”. He turned slowly and said “I’m thinking about.....time!” It is because so many of us admired him so much that he became college council president and a trusted friend to so many.

What a treat to reconnect with Mark in about 2005 through our daughters. Watching soccer games with Mark was hilarious in how he was just so happy to be out there with Lilly doing something she enjoyed. He was also delighted to be spending a few hours outside exchanging witticisms with Bill Chuck and others.

Mark has always felt things deeply. He was saddened by the early death by cancer of our good mutual friend Van Townsend and at our college reunion in 2015 helped organize an amazing hike & reflections memorial for Van & our other college classmates who had passed away too soon. I’m saddened that we’ll need to do the same for Mark. Thank you Mark for all the lessons on life I’ve learned from you.

Mark and his family have been a central part of Betsy’s and my
lives for nearly 49 years and, for each of our children, for all of
their lives.
He was generous of spirit and wonderful company. The very notion
of his physical absence is extraordinarily sad, but his presence
will live on with us and with so many others.
I have rich and rewarding memories and stories and will share them
with gratitude that my life and that of our family were the beneficiaries of his friendship.
Paul, Betsy, Tiernan, Curtis, Jo, and P.G.

When I think of Mark I will always think of the wonderful and raucous laughs we would share as we watched our daughters play high school soccer together. Yes, the tensions ran high in the game as we watched Lily and Jen excel on the field, but I also knew whenever I could come up with a good line, I would get a great bellowing laugh from Mark.
Oddly, the other thing I really remember about him was that he mixed the best holiday eggnog I ever tasted.There were no shortage of hearty laughs from those of us who drank from that bowl.
Even though we went our separate ways in our lives, I still feel his loss. It was just a reminder how much he added to my life and how he enriched those games and those moments we shared with out daughters.

To the Beautiful Henry, Lily, Sam and Cole,
Back in the early 90’s, your wonderful dad introduced me to the concept of the bike-a-thon and what it means to joyfully exhaust yourself to help others. I had not been a big cyclist before that cold morning at the beach in Stamford, but your dad asked if a few of us would help launch the bike event on behalf of his beloved Laurel House, and, well, how could we refuse? He had staked out proper routes along 20 or so miles of Stamford’s unforgiving roads (and drivers) and greeted us at the end with that big laugh and patrician voice of his in ways that both validated and celebrated our hard work. I remember lots of big, fat donuts, a raffle in which I won some sort of free bike service I didn't know I needed, and all those Laurel House clients cheering us on, doing everything they could to demonstrate their utter devotion to your dad. How they loved him. How he brought diverse communities together. How he cherished his role in helping others find joy in helping others. He was filled with love and kindness, and, in all of you, he has left that magnificent legacy.

I am very sorry to hear about Mark's death. I was chair of the Fountain House Board when he was Chair at Clubhouse International. That caused several opportunities for us to meet socially in NYC when he came to town. I enjoyed every one of those conversations. He was dedicated to helping people with mental illness and to maintaining a strong relationship between our two organizations. I recognize the man I knew then in all the stories and tributes others are posting here. A sad loss for the worldwide clubhouse community.

The Clubhouse community had in Mark a passionate, generous and constant champion. He never failed to visit Clubhouses on his visits around the world and always encouraged everyone to do the same. His compassion and his empathy were visible for all to see. We shall miss him deeply.
I shall miss him deeply, as a board colleague, as a friend and as a fellow proud parent.
My deepest condolences to you four children and to Mark's siblings. Your father and brother was a very special person who will continue to inspire me in our work to make the world a better place for people recovering from mental ill-health.

I had the privilege of serving with Mark for many years on the Board of Clubhouse International. He was extremely dedicated to improving the lives of people living with mental illness, and was a tireless and passionate advocate for them. He was very enthusiastic supporter of the the Clubhouse model, and traveled extensively to visit Clubhouses and attend regional Clubhouse meetings and seminars. He was engaged in the cause! He was also very knowledgeable about cheese, wines and the arts, so was a great person to talk to. I will miss him very much. My thoughts and prayers are with Mark's family at this time, but I know that, while you miss him, you also celebrate a life well lived.

A wonderful smart and gentle guy. I remember well our ferry trip on Puget Sound so many years ago. Que en paz descanse.

I had the pleasure of meeting Mark at several Clubhouse International Conferences. I knew him as a passionate Board member who set the standard for work ethic and compassion for leaders and Boards across the Clubhouse world. I will miss him.
Sincerest condolences to the family.
Frank Kelton, Executive Director, Potential Place Clubhouse, Calgary, Alberta Canada.

Dear Friends and Family,
I offer this tribute, a poem fragment from Maya Angelou, to Mark, his life and legacy. . . .
". . . .When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words
unsaid,
promised walks
never taken. . . .

And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed."
—Maya Angelou, When Great Trees Fall

Mark epitomized so many things:
love - no man ever loved his children more
brother - no man every loved his siblings more
kindness - his work for Clubhouse International speaks volumes
heart
wit
wisdom
wonder.
Mark left us way too soon.